


Little Notes

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-16 04:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18513721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: 5 headcanons: Mulder always leaves Scully little notes.





	Little Notes

1

Scully,Meet at Wine Down Bar at 2pm. – M.

She unsticks the Post-it and re-reads it. His private education cursive. The way he punctuates. It’s a directive, not a question. Why didn’t he just phone? He is addicted to his cell, after all. She holds the note, stuck to two fingers and calls Ethan, letting him know not to worry about dinner. She has a sneaking feeling she might be late home.

2

The next time he leaves a note, it’s longer.

Scully,Thanks for your company in quarantine. I would have gone stir-crazy without you. I spent a lot of time thinking about what you said before the case, that you’ve lost too much time already. We both have. There are so many things we have yet to achieve. And I’m looking forward to doing them together. – M. xx

PS: How do you feel about Wisconsin?

She smiles. Hopes she doesn’t have to get him out of a military jail again. But knows she will if she has to.

3

This note is in an envelope. He’s made her name look beautiful, somehow. Like a wedding invitation or a Valentine’s or a significant birthday card. Not that she’ll see any more of those. 

She taps the envelope against the desk, chastises herself for thinking that way. It’s been a hard-fought progression from fear to acceptance for her; starting awake in the small hours and reminding herself that she’s dying, realising she no longer able to smell his cologne in the office, to work out if he’s already been in, calling her mother more and Bill Jr less. 

Mulder hasn’t made the transition. Won’t make it. She runs a finger under the flap and frees the notepaper inside.

Scully,I need some time to think about what happened in Providence. I feel empty. I feel confused. I feel that given the right circumstances, I would do it all over again, if it meant I could find out what happened to Samantha. Honestly, that’s the thing that scares me. So, I’m taking a short break. 

I never got to thank you for believing in me, for your trust and your candor. Your strength, your support saved me. 

I’ll be back when I feel ready.Yours, M.

PS: can you feed my fish?

PPS: I’ve enclosed an article you might find interesting. Although, maybe I was attracted to this because I misread the headline as ‘Frankenstein’ not ‘Frankincense’.

She unfolds the newspaper clipping and sighs. Her doctor has told her about a hundred different holistic approaches to cancer treatment and not one of them has inspired her. But there’s something so genuine about Mulder, about his concern for her, that she sits on her chair and reads the findings with careful deliberation.

4

There’s a box on the desk with her name printed on an official shipping label. It’s brown and otherwise unremarkable. She sips her coffee and looks at it a while. Mulder comes in, suave in a new suit. His pale green shirt makes his eyes shine like amber. He’s wearing a new tie too. Charcoal, with a tiny silver polkadot.

“What’s that?” he asks, standing in front of the closed door. He looks like a man who is waiting to close out a deal. He looks hot.“A box,” she says and his face remains impassive.He’s behind her before she can cut through the parcel tape, leaning his arms either side of her, trapping her under him. She can see the fine quality of the fabric of his jacket. She can see those fingers, remember the things he does with them. She quells the shiver she feels ruffling up her spine and opens the box.Inside, there are dozens, hundreds even, of notes on every pastel shade of paper. They all say one thing:

I love you.

She picks up a handful and they scatter over the desk.

“Secret admirer?” he asks, fingering a blue note. It’s in the shape of a love-heart. “Guy’s got quite the crush, I’d say.” He sits in his chair, facing her. Smiling.

She allows him the smile. “I wonder if Jean’s in the lab today. She’s got a background in graphology.”

His grin stretches. “Pretty sure she’s out for the rest of the year, Scully.”

“How long did this take you, Mulder?”

He leans back and clasps his hands behind his head. He says nothing. But he looks like a man who’s closed the biggest deal of this life.

5

She misses the notes.

She misses his words in the fog on the bathroom mirror, in lipstick on a tissue, in seeds on the kitchen counter, in screensavers on the laptop, in texts and answerphone messages. He left his heart in doodles and pictures and letters in the most surprising ways. She misses him.

When she gives up their son, she misses being human, having a heart, feeling.

She starts a journal again. Writing when she should be eating or sleeping or working. She misses them.

Pages and pages of thoughts and guilt and confessions. She’s writing to make sense, to seek redemption, to rationalise and compartmentalise and cope. It doesn’t work.

She misses them. God, she misses every cell of both of them. But it’s what she deserves. This empty life is nothing less than she deserves. It’s all her fault.

Her words are incoherent. Messy. She strings sentences together that mean nothing. She thinks about Missy and how she would read so much into this stream of consciousness, imagines how she might light candles and celebrate how Dana was letting it all out, purging herself.

When he’s sentenced to death, she burns them.

Later, in some nameless motel in some nameless town, she finds a note on his pillow.

Scully,I’ve gone for a run. I’ll bring back bagels and coffee and more of that hair-dye.-M.PS: I love you.

He’s drawn a love-heart around the whole thing. She clutches it to her chest and waits for the sound of him coming back to her. 


End file.
